


Breathing For You

by OrangeMentats



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst, Brotherhood Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Ghouls, Original Character(s), Pining, Plot, Post-Canon, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Survival, slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-15 13:03:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeMentats/pseuds/OrangeMentats
Summary: With the Institute gone, the Sole Survivor faces a new threat.





	1. Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into fanfiction. When I started writing Breathing For You I wanted to write about my Sole Survivor's relationship with Paladin Danse but after re-playing FO3 I remembered just how much I love Charon. So yay, crossovers!
> 
> I also only have a vague idea of where the story is headed at the moment but its becoming clearer the more I write. Might take a few chapters to get going. I'll be adding more tags/characters as I go along, too.

It was over. It was finally over. Her journey away from the Mass Fusion building was nothing but a blur, the synth caricature of her son clinging to her side. She had planned on heading to Sanctuary, meandering north west for hours before suddenly veering off east. The wasteland was oddly quiet, perhaps the nuclear explosion which had flattened the CIT building and the Institute below it had sent the raiders and wildlife scurrying for cover like rats. Perhaps she was just lucky. Amelia was in no state to fight, her vision blurred from tears and her cheeks stinging where the harsh wind whipped at the damp streams they left on her face. She could only think of one place she wanted to go, heavy legs dragging her onward despite protesting their fatigue.

She spied the helipad first, bordered by splintered chain-link fencing. Despite the tiredness which screamed in every limb, the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 broke into a run, dragging the little synth along behind her. He protested weakly behind her, his voice wavering as it had done like the first time she’d seen him, locked away in a glass cage. He feared the Wasteland and Amelia found that she did not blame him. She made a pitiful attempt to reassure him – _"hush now, sweetheart, we’ll be safe now”_ – but it was duty that caused it to spill forth from her lips, not affection. Her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts racing as she barrelled through the bunker door, loping across the concrete to the desk in the centre of the room. The boy at her side whimpered at the sight of the skeleton but she did not acknowledge him. She moved on autopilot, leaning down just long enough to reactivate the elevator before grabbing the boy’s wrist once more.

_Please._

Seconds felt like hours as the elevator descended into the bunker below and Amelia found herself straining to listen for sounds of life below. She heard nothing but the clunking of gears above her. Her heart jumped into her throat, breath hitching like icy fingers had wound their way around it. It felt like an eternity before the doors opened and the slender, blue-clad figure stumbled out with the boy in tow.

_“Danse?”_

She whispered, every fibre of her being hoping he was just being cautious – they dare not be too careless despite Elder Maxson’s begrudging decision to let him live. Maxson was a man of his word, or so Danse had told her, but Amelia didn’t trust that he wouldn’t send someone to finish the mission she couldn’t even start.

“Danse?!”

She called again, her voice cracking as the realisation dawned on her that he wasn’t there. Her grip on synth-Shaun’s wrist loosened before disengaging from him entirely, sprinting through the hole in the wall and scrambling into the room on the far side. The room felt even colder without his presence; as much as her first visit to the bunker had pained her, the relief she’d felt when she’d reached her superior officer, broken in his exile, had been so palpable she could almost taste it. Now, all she tasted was the bitter truth that he was gone. Amelia sank to her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks, burying her face in the dirty mattress on the bed. She could smell him faintly, a combination of power armour grease and stale sweat that she had grown to love. She jumped as a small hand gripped her shoulder but found she was too tired to shrug it away.

“Mom..?” The voice asked quietly. “Why are you crying?”

She choked on her own words like she couldn’t bare the taste of them. “He’s not here, sweetheart.” A pause. “Our friend is gone.” _'And I’m not your Mom’_ she thought bitterly, but even in her anguish she didn’t want to cause the boy any harm, any upset. He had suffered enough today.

“We’ll sleep here tonight, sweetie.” Amelia said, but knew that sleep would not come for her. “I’ll get us some food. Do you like Fancy Lads?” She didn’t wait for his answer, if what she’d learned in the Institute was true most synths were fond of the sweet, gritty cakes. It would explain why Danse liked them so much, anyway. The thought stopped her in her tracks, a sigh escaping chapped lips, before she retrieved a pack of Fancy Lads from her pack. The boy grabbed the delicate cardboard package with a gleeful smile and began tucking into the cakes with gusto. It was just enough to cause a weak smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. At least that had brightened her mood a little.

While the boy ate, she took a minute to glance around the room at what the former Paladin had left behind. His duffle bag was gone, and the ammo canisters on the desk were empty bar one. He’d left behind a couple of boxes of shotgun shells. He knew how much she loved that damn gun. A wistful smile was etched upon her features for a moment, quickly darkening into a frown as she reached for a holotape left on the desk. That definitely wasn’t there when she’d left. Amelia stuffed it into one of the pockets on her jumpsuit, not quite having the nerve to listen to it. She told herself it was in case it contained something which would upset the synth boy, but deep down knew it was a lie. She was the one who couldn’t bring herself to slot it into her Pip-Boy for fear of what she might hear.

It wasn’t until after she had settled the boy on the bed, coaxing him to sleep with old songs playing softly on the radio, that she dared to look at the holotape again. There was nothing written on the casing, no note to betray its contents. As quietly as she could, Amelia slipped back through into the other room. She deactivated the elevator again at the terminal, if anything just to kill a bit more time, and settled into the flimsy desk chair. It creaked under her weight but despite its protestations held fast. Thoughts racing wildly and heart thumping almost painfully in her chest, she slipped the holotape into her Pip-Boy and closed it with a familiar _click_. The device whirred softly and then she heard his voice.

“Knight Williams.. Amelia. I must apologise for disappearing, especially after everything you’ve done for me. I know you’re probably angry, but there’s something I have to do. I have to know if my memories are real. I have to know where the Institute ends and where… Where I begin. I’m going back to the Capital Wasteland, I’ll return when I have the answers I’m looking for. Don’t follow me, Amelia. There’s people counting on you, soldier. The Brotherhood, the Minutemen.. They need you.”

A long pause.

“I need you to pass this to Elder Maxson. I… I saw something, out near Fort Hagen. Something I hoped I’d never see again. I thought we’d wiped them out. He needs to know.”

There was an urgency in his voice which made panic bubble in her throat like bile, and something else underneath it. Fear, she thought. She couldn’t even recall a time when she’d heard her commanding officer sound scared, except perhaps the time they’d faced down an enormous Deathclaw in the ruins of the Museum of Witchcraft with perilously low supplies. He’d scolded her for that one, Amelia thought with a smile. On the tape Danse took a deep breath and brought her back from her reverie.

“They’re back, Arthur. The Enclave.. They’re back.”


	2. Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia has something to take care of before reporting in to her Elder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise there'll be more actual story soon. Promise.

Bright orange smoke spilled forth from the signal grenade, billowing in the light breeze. She’d led the boy a short distance north west, stopping on the far side of Greentop Nursery to keep the Listening Post a secret. Not that Danse was hiding out there anyway. As Amelia had suspected, she didn’t sleep a wink. The bunker had been too stuffy, too claustrophobic, and it reminded her far too much of Danse. She hated that she’d left him there after facing Maxson’s wrath, unable to convince him to follow her to Sanctuary or another more discrete settlement. It was no wonder he’d left. The guilt gnawed at the pit of her stomach, she couldn’t help but feel like it was all her fault. Amelia didn’t even realise she was chewing her lip until the boy at her side piped up to ask what was wrong.

“Nothing, sweetie. Just thinking about something. Hey, you ever seen a vertibird before?”

The boy shook his head, his expression hesitant. Amelia crouched down and forced herself to smile. She knew the boy would be picking up on her anxiety, so she tried to distract him as best as she could.

“You’re gonna love them, I promise. And you know what’s even better than _seeing_ a vertibird?” The boy shook his head. “ _Riding_ in one.”

The whine of rotors in the distance caused her to spin round, bringing a hand up to shield her eyes from the dust whipped up by the engines. “See? There it is.” The boy’s eyes widened and a grin swept across his face like wildfire.

“Woah! It’s so cool! Do we really get to ride in it?”

“Sure we do, sweetie.” She replied, her spirits lifting a little at the boy’s enthusiasm. She gestured for him to follow as the ‘bird landed and lifted him inside. Amelia made sure to fasten the boy in, she definitely didn’t want a repeat of the time she’d tried to show off to Danse only to find herself scrambling to stay on board after the pilot banked particularly sharply.

“Lancer Rodriguez, good to see you. Had any Gunner trouble on your way here?”

“None at all, Paladin. They’ve been quiet for a couple of days, not that I’m complaining. Elder Maxson wants to see you as soon as possible.” Rodriguez was one of her favourite pilots and probably one of the chattiest. He always seemed happy to see her, or at least always had a smile on his face when he picked her up. A couple of the other Lancers weren’t quite so happy to accept how quickly she’d risen through the ranks and some, particularly Lancer Hill, practically had kittens when the hot-headed, vault-dwelling ‘savage’ (as she’d called her) had been promoted to Paladin. Then again, Lancer Hill didn’t seem to like anyone who outranked her.

“I just need to make a quick detour, Rodriguez. Out near Poseidon Energy, if you don’t mind. I won’t tell if you don’t.” She winked, grinning at the pilot as he scowled at her in the mirror. His expression softened almost immediately. “If Elder Maxson checks my flight records I’m ratting you out.” He huffed playfully, before starting the engines.

“Deal, Rodriguez. Shaun, this is going to get loud.” The rotors span up and the vertibird took off, the boy grinning like a Cheshire cat as the ground disappeared beneath them. Amelia leaned into the cockpit, placing a hand gently on the Lancer’s shoulder so not to startle him. “It’ll probably be best heading down the coast, there’s a fuck tonne of Gunners holed up in Quincy.” Absentmindedly she rubbed the spot on her upper arm where she’d been shot the first time she’d wandered into the town. She’d narrowly avoided a much more serious wound and may not even have survived if Danse hadn’t been there to drag her out of the line of fire. Thoughts of Danse were bittersweet and her lips pursed involuntarily. To avoid any questions from Rodriguez or the synth boy, Amelia grabbed hold of one of the miniguns to keep an eye out for any Gunners or raiders who thought to try their luck. To her surprise and palpable relief, the journey was quiet except for a small group of raiders out near Jamaica Plain.

When Rodriguez finally touched down in the shadow of Poseidon Energy, Amelia hesitated for a moment before disembarking. “Rodriguez,” She called, while unhooking the boy from the safety restraints in the cabin. “I’m going to be maybe half an hour tops. You see even a hint of trouble and you high tail it back to the Prydwen, you hear?” The Lancer went to protest, but she cut him off. “I’m more than capable of making it back to the Airport on foot, if needs be. I’ll be as quick as I can.” She gave the young man a small smile when he answered her, a quick “Yes, Paladin,” before she helped the boy out onto solid ground.

Her visit to the Peabody house went smoother than she expected, having broached the subject with the couple the last time she had been in the area had certainly been a good idea. Billy had been playing ball outside as they approached and the slender woman waved to him and ushered the synth boy over to join him. Motherhood was not a life she had wanted and it was not a life which suited her, more so now that the world had ended. The Peabodys had been more than happy to take in the boy as a companion for Billy. Having a companion, who like him would never age, would help combat some of the loneliness the Peabodys had voiced concern about over mutfruit tea and Salisbury steak a few months earlier.

Amelia said her goodbyes, letting Matt and Carol know to contact her or the Minutemen for anything they needed and the synth boy know she would come visit as soon as she had chance. She departed as quickly as she could, hurrying back to the site where she’d left Rodriguez and her ride back to normality. To her surprise and noticeable relief, the vertibird was still parked on the road beside the power plant. Rodriguez gave her a quizzical look as she boarded alone, but didn’t question her.

“Come on, Rodriguez. Let’s go home.”


	3. Sentinel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paladin Williams returns to the Prydwen.

It was strange how quickly things changed. The first time Danse had brought Amelia on board the Prydwen her stomach had flipped and her knees were so weak she had to hang onto his arm for support. Nowadays, stepping onto the metal flight deck felt just as natural as being on solid ground. She thanked Rodriguez with a slim smile, feeling the mask of normality slipping at her edges. All she needed was to get to Maxson and give him the tape. After that she could retreat to her quarters – _Danse’s_ quarters – and try to get her thoughts together. It still hurt that as soon as the position of Paladin had opened up Maxson had foisted Danse’s possessions on her, that he could be so cold and callous with the memory of his best soldier and closest friend. She and the Elder hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but she had to trust in him now. She had to trust that he’d hear the fear in his old friend’s voice and _know_ that something was horribly wrong.

She ascended the steps quickly, nodding a greeting to the power armoured Knight at the door before pushing inside. She could see Maxson’s distinctive form silhouetted against the morning sun, looking broad and proud in his battlecoat. Amelia huffed softly, steeling herself and calming her nerves. She wanted to run in, scream at him that something was wrong and that Danse was missing, but that would do her no favours. She had to play the game. Straightening her posture, she rapped her knuckles on the steel doorframe before entering, saluting her Elder and Lancer-Capain Kells stiffly before halting in the middle of the room.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” She stated, as calmly as she could muster. The Elder had turned to face her, his expression barely faltering from the stony visage he usually wore. He looked almost proud, or perhaps it was respect she could see etched on his features instead. Their relationship was at best described as ‘tolerance’ so if anything this was an improvement. She hoped his demeanour had warmed somewhat from the frosty interactions they’d had since Danse’s departure. 

“Paladin, I’m pleased you’ve returned. Captain Kells and I wanted to speak with you. Captain Kells.” Amelia’s bright blue eyes drifted from Maxson to Kells as he began his speech. She didn’t have time for this. She wrung her hands behind her back, trying to dissipate some of the nervous energy that was bursting at her seams.

“As I expect Elder Maxson has already explained, the destruction of the Institute is simply the first stage of our operations in the Commonwealth. There are still Super Mutants and ferals to be dealt with as well as any remaining synths that escaped the blast.” She could see Maxson watching her carefully out of the corner of her eye, as if he expected some sort of outburst from her. As much as she disagreed with their opinion of the synths left behind since the Institute was reduced to nothing but rubble, she wouldn’t give either of them the satisfaction. She needed to keep Maxson in as pleasant of a mood as possible for the unpalatable news she carried with her. She kept her vision fixed on Kells, but found that she was looking through him, not at him. Amelia hoped he didn’t notice. “It is our hope that you’ll continue serving with the Brotherhood and assist us with eradicating these threats.”

“Aw, come on Captain. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” She teased, her voice light. It sounded wrong to her ears. “Indeed.” He replied dryly, “I expected no less from you, Paladin.” Maxson’s voice pulled her attention front and centre once more.

“In light of your service, Captain Kells and I both feel you deserve unique recognition for your contributions, both past and future. It is with great pleasure, and the utmost respect that you are hereby granted the title of Sentinel.” Amelia couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t quite as much of a pleasure as he was making out. “This is the highest honour a Brotherhood soldier can achieve, but we both felt strongly that it was well deserved.” Kells gave her his congratulations before she once again turned her attention to Maxson.

“You better watch it, Maxson. I’m only one step away from Elder now.” She teased again, taking more than a little satisfaction in the way his eyebrow quirked. The corner of the Elder’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile, his gaze dropping from her a face for a moment as he sized her up. “Indeed, I’ll be certain to watch my back.” His voice was tinged with a hint of mirth, while his eyes held something more ferocious. Danse had once told her that the Elder had confided in him that he found her feistiness charming, and Amelia had wondered whether it was simply because everyone else in the Brotherhood treated him with the utmost deference due to his birthright. She wondered whether Arthur had ever had anyone talk back to him or give him shit before she came along. Probably not.   

“So, Sentinel.. For the first time since we’ve met, I have no orders for you. From this moment forward, you will decide which missions you undertake and how you will guide us.” _Excellent_ , she thought to herself. If Maxson was letting her off leash to such a degree, perhaps he would be more open to discussing the holotape than she’d first thought. “Captain Kells and the personnel at the Cambridge Police Station still possess numerous operations for you to undertake. Where you go from here is up to you.” He saluted her heartily, and Amelia was a little ashamed at the rush of pride she got from his approval. She was equally ashamed of the thrill she got when the Elder turned his intense gaze on her. He was seven years her junior for a start and she didn’t exactly agree with his ideals. 

“Ad Victoriam, Elder. Captain.” A blue-clad arm rose to her chest in salute and Maxson turned to continue brooding over the Commonwealth. It was her cue to leave but the dark-haired woman lingered. She waited until Kells had crossed the threshold before stepping a little closer to the Elder. “On the subject of choosing my missions, Sir, I have something I’d like to discuss. Somewhere a little more quiet. Your private quarters, perhaps?” She could almost hear the rumours now; the creak of power armour outside the room more than enough to tell her that the two Knights who guarded the Elder had heard. Maxson himself seemed surprised, but turned to face her slowly – deliberately – as if to hide it. She could almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes, from suspicion, to concern, before finally settling on what she assumed was satisfaction. 

“Alright, Sentinel. Follow me.” He dismissed the two Knights outside the door as he passed with a flick of his hand, marching toward his quarters with a stride that the petite vault dweller struggled to keep up with.


	4. Bourbon and Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia and Maxson have a tense conversation.

Though the journey to Maxson’s quarters consisted only of a trip up the ladder onto the main deck and a short walk thereafter, it seemed to take an eternity. Amelia could feel her comrade’s eyes on her back as the Elder pushed open the door. It was no secret that Maxson was under pressure from the Western Chapters to take a wife and she had no doubt that those witnessing her entry to his quarters would soon be gossiping that she was going to take the title of Mrs Maxson. The thought made her skin crawl. Danse had suggested once, and never mentioned it again at her resulting fury, that she would be a perfect candidate to become the Elder’s wife. He argued that her pre-war genetics would be free from corruption from generations of exposure to radiation and therefore would produce the healthiest offspring to continue the Maxson line. Her explosive reaction – that she wouldn’t be married off as a broodmare to a man she barely knew – had frightened her Paladin into silence and he had dared not bring the subject up again. She bristled at the thought. Attractive as the younger man might be she would not be married off to him and the world would have to end a second time before she would bear children for anyone ever again.

She came back from her thoughts as she stepped inside, Maxson closing the door firmly behind her when she passed. His quarters were more spartan than she expected for a man of his stature, but that suited Maxson to a tee. He gestured to the table in the centre of the room and the vault dweller swiftly took a seat – the sooner she got this over with the better. The Elder seemed to sense her unease, shrugging off his Battlecoat before pouring a shot of vodka and handing it his subordinate. Amelia responded by taking off her hat, a ratty sea captain’s hat she’d been wearing since a few days after she stumbled out of the vault. Danse had always said it looked ridiculous, that it was tactically irresponsible not to wear something with more protection, but she had always countered that it had served her well so far. It was her lucky hat, and she needed that luck now more than ever.

Placing her hat on the table, the Sentinel took the offered glass with a short “Thanks,” and downed the vodka in one. Wrinkling her nose at the taste, she set the glass down and eyed the Elder while he drank his own. “Jesus. I’ll never get used to the taste of 200 year old vodka. You don’t have any bourbon, do you? I swear bourbon’s aged a lot better.” The Elder’s lips twitched into the faintest inkling of a smirk before he moved to a nearby set of shelves. He set an unopened bottle down in the centre of the table and she immediately reached out, grabbed it, and poured a large shot. She gestured to Maxson, who declined with a shake of his head before pouring another shot of vodka for himself. Her dainty hands traced nervous patterns on the glass, then on the bottle, then tapped on the table until her superior’s hot gaze threatened to bore a hole in her forehead. With a sigh she brushed a limp strand of hair from her face before digging into her pocket to retrieve the holotape. She cast it onto the table like it burned and eyed it with thinly guarded disdain, saying nothing. Any words she wanted to say died in her throat.

After what felt like hours, the Elder reached across the table to pick the tape up. He examined it in the cold, careful way she was used to and gave her a quizzical look. The vault dweller couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze, looking anywhere but his face for fear of what he might see. Hurt, anger, _blame_ all surged within her and it took all her willpower not to just leave the room when she heard the _click_ of the holotape being inserted into the Elder’s terminal.

As the tape whirred into being the vault dweller snatched the bourbon from the table, twisting off the cap with a loud _pop_. She gulped it down to drown out Danse’s voice and to prepare for the conversation to come. This was already going far worse than she could’ve hoped and Maxson hadn’t even said a word yet. When she finally slammed the bottle back down with a breathless gasp two thirds of the contents were gone. The alcohol burned in her throat and she could already feel it soothing her nerves. She dared to glance at the younger man who sat stiff in his chair, his back to her. When he turned, his face was unreadable – a well-practised mask which she had seen too many times before. The calm before the storm. He moved then - a slow deliberate stride back to the table. As he went to sit, she reached for the bottle again only to find it snatched from her grasp.

“No.” He said firmly. “I will not have my best officer set such a poor example to her Brothers and Sisters on the Prydwen.” His gaze was hard and perhaps tinged with concern - she considered that she _had_ just downed most of a bottle of bourbon. It probably didn’t paint her in the best light. “Cut the shit, Maxson.” She growled back, reaching across the table to pry the bottle from his grip. The alcohol was evidently working its magic on her inhibitions already given her choice of words. “Danse was your best officer and you know it.” Her statement had the desired effect, the Elder’s grip loosening just enough that she could grab the bottle and pour herself another shot. It presented better than just necking the rest of the bottle, at least. “I mean, look at him. He’s still fucking trying to protect the Brotherhood even after you exiled him. He’s the best soldier you ever had.” Bourbon burned in her throat again.

“That _thing_ is an abomination, _Sentinel._ ” He snarled, his voice kept low enough that no one passing by his quarters would hear. He leaned over the table, seeming even broader up close. “How do I know it’s not just trying to finish what the Institute started?” She bristled with indignant fury, slamming her glass on the table with enough force she was sure it would shatter. “You and I both know that’s fucking _bullshit_.” She spat venomously, daring him to say something stupid. She was treading on thin ice already, but at this point she might as well crack it herself and drown. The dark-haired man huffed, rubbing his temples in thought. The silence was deafening. "Who even are ‘The Enclave’ anyway?” She finally asked in an attempt to move the conversation forward. Slowly, Maxson raised his head and met her gaze.

The expression he wore made her think he was astonished she’d even asked the question, as if everyone should know who the Enclave were. It took a moment for the incredulity to fade from his face before he sighed and rubbed his temples again. “I sometimes forget that you are.. not of this time.” He chose his words carefully, watching her as if he expected another outburst. “The Enclave are the remnants of the United States government of your time. They like to think of themselves as the last bastion of untainted humanity.” Amelia hated them already, there was enough bigotry in the Commonwealth without a new group of humans discriminating based on ‘purity’. It took her thoughts back to her time in law school, reading about the horrors of the war crimes during the Second World War. “Ten years ago, they attempted to release a modified version of the FEV in the Capital Wasteland in the hopes it would kill anything mutated by radiation, from Wastelanders to Super Mutants. With the help of a vault dweller from vault 101, the Brotherhood defeated the Enclave but the cost was great. We lost many great soldiers,” Amelia noted that Maxson’s eyes were far away, gazing right through her. He’d lost someone he’d cared deeply about, just as she had. Tentatively, she reached across the table to pat his hand softly. Her hand withdrew quickly, moving to the bottle of bourbon for another shot.

The shocked expression on his face shifted into a scowl as the alcohol pooled in her glass, before he reached for the bottle of vodka to drown old sorrows of his own. “We wiped them off the face of the Earth – Raven Rock, Adam’s Air Force Base… There was nothing left of them but ash and dust. Or so we thought.” He slammed his fist on the table with such force that the woman jumped, cautious of the Elder’s sudden temper. “Fuck!” She whispered, half in surprise and half in exasperation – the forces of the Commonwealth combined had only just brought down the Institute and Amelia wasn’t sure they were prepared to face a threat as battle hardened as the organisation Maxson described. Their only solace, she pondered, was that if the Brotherhood had wiped out much of their fighting force ten years ago then numbers were on their side. Given the technological masterpieces that were the Prydwen and Liberty Prime, she assumed they had technical superiority too. Maxson and Danse’s reactions to the news, however, unnerved her.

“I know I said I had no orders for you, Sentinel, but there’s something I need you to do.” The Elder began, pausing only to take a swig of vodka. Although she felt almost entirely humourless Amelia attempted to lighten the mood, feeling an unfamiliar melancholy emanating from her superior. “Sure, Arthur. Anything. Just let me sleep off this bourbon first, I’m gonna have the hangover to end all hangovers.”


	5. Fort Hagen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia and Nick head to Fort Hagen to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, this took way longer than I planned to write and ended up way longer than I intended. On the upside, things will finally get moving in the next couple of chapters, yay!
> 
> Just a minor warning for some gore toward the end of this chapter.

She was glad Maxson had kept his word and let her sleep off her horrendous hangover before sending her on her mission. The Sole Survivor had awoken with a pounding head, cursing into her pillow that the best way to deal with her problems had been almost an entire bottle of bourbon. She nursed her banging head and sore eyes with a shot of Med-X chased by purified water, curled up in her – no, _Danse’s_ – bed and dreamed that he was there to comfort her.

When she finally found herself hangover free – much later in the day than she would’ve liked – she dressed, showered (who knew when she’d next have lukewarm water?) and headed to Maxson’s quarters for briefing. On one thing they agreed - they had to be sure. They did not agree on anything else. Maxson, young and hot-headed, wanted to mount a full-scale assault on Fort Hagen to capture or destroy any Enclave that may remain there. Amelia favoured a stealthier approach, arguing that such a show of force would be spotted long before they arrived in Fort Hagen and would drive any Enclave remnants underground. Despite the Elder’s protestations he had to agree with her assertion that letting their enemy know they were aware of their presence in the Commonwealth was a bad move. He knew she was right – if the Enclave knew the Brotherhood was watching them, they’d just be more careful. It would make anticipating their next move would be even more difficult.

Amelia had filled her pack with essentials; stimpacks, radaway, rad-x and enough food and water for a few days’ hike. She didn’t intend to engage any Enclave that might be out in the field unless she really had to, so chose her favourite sniper rifle – a .50 cal with a recon scope and silencer – and her combat shotgun in case of emergencies. Holstering a plasma pistol on her left thigh and stuffing a knife in her boot, she jumped into Rodriguez’ vertibird and asked to be dropped as close to Diamond City as possible. The Lancer had offered to give her – and the synth detective, to his credit – a lift closer to Fort Hagen but Amelia declined. The less attention they attracted on their way out the better. 

Nick was surprised to see her and knew from the look on her face that something was wrong. She filled him in on the hike and, ever the gentleman, he consoled her when her façade of normality cracked. If anyone could help her track down the group that Danse had seen, it would be Nick. The duo followed the wreckage of the highway, skirting the interchange before heading north. Amelia and Danse had cleared Fiddler’s Green of ferals months ago and to her surprise only two crawled out from the derelict trailers as they entered. The pair dispatched them as quietly as possible before the vault dweller set up on the roof of a trailer for some reconnaissance. Through her scope she could see a thin pillar of smoke but otherwise no signs that the town was inhabited – not that she could see much from down the hill. When they finally entered the town they found signs of a skirmish, a few unlucky raiders strewn lifelessly in the streets. When certain that they were alone, Nick made the observation that whoever had killed the raiders had been wielding plasma weaponry, as evidenced by two piles of viscous green goo.

They swept through half-collapsed buildings with ease, Amelia looting as she went and Nick chiding her that they could come back when they were sure they weren’t going to get ambushed. “C’mon doll,” He called from outside the ruins of the barracks, “It ain’t like they’re gonna be walking away any time soon.” It had been a while since the pair had travelled together and evidently the detective had not grown any fonder of his companion’s compulsive hoarding of almost everything she could get her hands on. When her pack was stuffed with all the ammo she could find Amelia begrudgingly re-joined Nick’s side, frustrated that her scavenging had been cut short. Nick was right, though. As usual. The synth detective was probably the wisest person she knew and she had learned long ago not to question his judgment – it usually came back to bite her on the ass if she did.

The Fort itself was empty, the gen-1 synths she had left in her wake when exterminating Kellogg stripped bare by what she assumed were raiders and scavvers. By the time the pair finished their sweep Amelia was thoroughly disheartened, she had hoped to at least find some clues as to the Enclave’s plans or where they were headed next. It seemed the group were better at covering their tracks than she had anticipated. The dark-haired woman slumped behind an overturned desk, pausing only to take a swig of purified water and scoff some snack cakes before heading out.

“Hey Nick,” She called softly, “You find anything?” Nick’s ruined face was grim, shaking his head before reaching into his pocket for his lighter. The red glow of his cigarette threw shadows across his features in the low light, tendrils of smoke curling up to caress the ceiling. “I hate to say it doll but I think this is a bust. I’m not even sure these ‘Enclave’ folks have been here at all.” She wasn’t so convinced. “Danse knew what he saw, Nick. You know what he’s like, he wouldn’t lie.” She sighed. “He was scared, Nick.” Just thinking about the tape brought waves of anxiety crashing over her. She knew it was ridiculous - of course Danse had been scared of things before – but the tone of his voice had haunted her and her dreams.

When Nick’s second cigarette burned out, the pair moved back outside. It was a single, lonely shot that drew her focus east. She couldn’t see what had been the target – not them, thankfully – but it was a lead, one she couldn’t pass up. There was only one place east of Fort Hagen which would be worth investigating and that was the array. Grabbing her rifle from her back, she pressed her finger to her lips and gestured for Nick to follow. She sure as hell wasn’t going to go running head first into the unknown, instead choosing to skirt the northern edge of the array compound. When she’d first investigated the area she’d come across a rocky outcrop where she’d picked off raiders undetected. Hopefully it would prove just as useful now.

Sprawled in a cleft atop the outcrop, she rested the sniper rifle’s stock against her shoulder and waited. Obscured enough from view that she shouldn’t be spotted by any stray eyes wandering north, she scanned the compound for any signs of life. This time she wasn’t disappointed. Patrolling the edge of the compound was a man in power armour darker than any she had ever seen. The armour lacked the shine of the suits she had seen in the Commonwealth, pitch black and matte, almost as if it absorbed all light that touched it. The plating was sleeker than even a T-60, not dissimilar to the X-01 suit she had gifted Danse in his exile. The helmet was something entirely more ominous. She took a sharp intake of breath as the figure turned to look in their direction and prayed to any deity that would listen that he wouldn’t spot her. Luck, it seemed, was on their side, as a figure in dirty tan and white began shouting and gesticulating behind the armoured figure, drawing his attention away. The uniformed man pointed toward two more figures, these dressed in lab coats and looking distinctly frightened. Were they.. Institute scientists? They couldn’t be. The armoured man saluted – an old world salute, not like the Brotherhood salute she had become accustomed to – and began moving toward the rear of the compound. She followed him with her scope, only then spying the blades of a vertibird over the crest of the hill. 

_“Shit!”_ She hissed, hearing Nick cock his revolver behind her in response. Crawling backward on her stomach, she slipped down from her perch to her companion’s side. Dainty hands cradled her head for a moment before she huffed and reached into her pack. While she rummaged through the copious amount of junk inside, she glanced over her shoulder at the detective with a sly grin. “So I’ve got an idea, but you’re sure as hell not going to like it.”

“Your reckless ass is going to get us both killed, I hope ya know that.” The detective drawled as she clambered back up onto her outcrop. Her pack two stealth boys lighter, the vault dweller waited. It didn’t take long for her plan to set into motion. The vertibird’s rotors began to spin up and the man in the black and tan uniform was last to board. Perfect. Her .50 cal may not have the power to down any of the armoured units in one shot, but a man in nothing more than a glorified flight suit would be no match at all. She waited until the ‘bird began to lift off, holding her breath to steady her aim and readying her shoulder for the rifle’s ungodly kick. 

Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the trigger. Her shot found it’s mark, hitting the man in his right shoulder and wrenching his entire arm and part of his ribcage free of his torso. The man must’ve died instantly, the corpse toppling from the cabin like a ragdoll. The ensuing panic was glorious, giving the vault dweller time to chamber another round before an armoured figure could spin up the minigun. She didn’t bother with the small fry this time. Grinning like a madwoman, her second shot connected with one of the vertibirds engines, causing it to lurch and lose what little altitude it had gained before levelling out again. With the pilot spooked the ‘bird began to retreat more hastily than it had before. She took a second to engage her stealth boy, the hail of bullets from the minigun peppering the array and surrounding area as the crew fired in blind panic. They still had no idea where the sniper was. _Excellent_ , she thought, taking a final shot. She aimed for the other engine, but only delivered a glancing blow. The pilot’s erratic movements made her target almost impossible to hit and the last shot only hastened their retreat.

“I don’t know if you’re damned lucky or damned stupid, but you’re somethin’.” Nick grumbled as she climbed back down. The girl cocked her head to one side, a grin tugging at her lips. “Aww c’mon Nick, you know you wouldn’t have me any other way.” The synth huffed, reaching into his pocket for yet another cigarette. It was a good thing he was a synth or his chain smoking would’ve got him killed years ago. The vault dweller started up the hill, gesturing over her shoulder for him to follow. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’. Someone’s gotta keep you from getting into trouble.” There was humour in his voice this time.

It took longer than she would’ve liked to find the body. She found the arm first and snickered as she passed. Snipers like this one really were something else. She’d used rifles out hunting with her dad as a kid but nothing quite had the same destructive power as a .50. The man’s body was mangled and broken, face down in the dirt. She nudged it onto it’s back with her boot, before reaching down to grab her knife. She made a distinct _bleugh_ sound as she cut through the bloody uniform, sticking out her tongue in disgust. In the months since leaving the vault Amelia had become accustomed with killing and pulling the trigger barely even bothered her anymore, but she was still uncomfortable with the aftermath, especially when it was particularly gruesome like this. She needed to get the evidence back to the Prydwen though, so she’d just have to suck it up and get on with it.


	6. A New Frontier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia finally reaches the Citadel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the Capital Wasteland! That took waaaay longer than I intended.

It was the longest vertibird ride of her life. Travel by ‘bird was the quickest way to get anywhere in the Commonwealth, making light work of journeys which would take hours on foot. This was something else entirely. She had been on board for around two hours and, as far as she was aware, they were still nowhere near their destination. Even Dogmeat, strapped into his harness for safety, was beginning to look dejected. He usually loved watching the world go by underneath him, tongue lolling from his mouth and barking at anything which shot at them. 

\---

Everything had moved so quickly. Once she’d gathered up the Enclave officer’s uniform the vault dweller had thrown down a signal grenade and sure enough Rodriguez had flown in to pick them up. Nick had accompanied her onto the Prydwen once before so she knew what to expect, some insults and a lot of posturing, but nothing the detective couldn’t handle. They had filled Rodriguez in on their discovery at the fort and Amelia was surprised when the Lancer had struck up conversation with the synth like it was no big deal. “If the Sentinel likes you then you’re alright by me.” The younger man had said and it warmed her heart to know that not everyone in the Brotherhood was as much of a bigot as Maxson or Quinlan. “Sentinel, huh? You’re moving up in the world. An’ you’re a good kid, Rodriguez, but don’t be gettin’ in trouble on my account. You’d better call me a ‘filthy synth’ or something when we board so no one knows you’re goin’ soft.” Nick had teased back.

Rodriguez fulfilled his end of the bargain, getting them back to the Prydwen safely and with a little insult for good measure, though it lacked the venom of the others they heard while on board. “Ouch, if you ain’t careful you’ll hurt my feelings.” The detective had shot back as he disembarked the vertibird and Amelia grinned at the wide-eyed look the young man shot her. Nick was right, he was a good kid. Too good for this hellhole. Once on board Nick was a savage, giving as good as he got. There were surely some bruised egos by the time the pair left – one Knight in particular looked wounded when Nick spat back _“not much of a sight yourself”_ to his imaginative slight of _“abomination”._

She had enjoyed watching Maxson squirm when the pair joined him on the Command Deck, but knew better than to press the issue. These were serious and dangerous times. Nick quickly proved why he was such an asset to their expedition. The detective could recall details that Amelia had forgotten or missed entirely; the plasma weaponry, the precise number of Enclave soldiers, the presence of the Institute scientists. She’d never been much of a detective, that was why she’d gone to law school – still dealing out justice but without scratching her head looking for clues. The law, she found, was much more straightforward. Commonwealth justice was straightforward too; bad people did bad deeds and she killed them for it. Simple. 

And now she was on a vertibird bound for Washington D.C. Except it wasn’t the D.C she had visited with Nate more than 200 years earlier – it was the Capital Wasteland. She had heard Danse and Maxson talk fondly of it on more than one occasion and Danse had mentioned in passing once that the Commonwealth was surprisingly brutal in comparison. But as she spied the city skyline on the horizon she wasn’t sure she trusted his judgment. Even from up here the city looked desolate, charred and blackened buildings stretching into the sky like dying plants competing for the last rays of sunlight. Normal was what you got used to, she supposed.

It was almost another hour until they reached their destination and by this point Amelia was thoroughly sick of flying. She told one of the armoured Knights on board as much. “Don’t worry ma’am,” He replied, “We’ll reach the Citadel soon, it’s got everything you could dream of and more.” The Knight sounded almost reverent and it dawned on the vault dweller that the Citadel was ‘home’ to all the members of the Brotherhood she had met except for the few, like her, recruited in the Commonwealth. It must’ve been a huge relief for these knights and scribes to be heading back home, much as she could tell that she’d be relieved to return to the Commonwealth. Something about the dingy green smog that seemed to envelope the Capital put her on edge, maybe because it reminded her more than a little bit of the Glowing Sea.

“Holy shit, you didn’t tell me it was the fucking Pentagon!” She exclaimed as the vertibird began to descend. She span round to face the Knights and accompanying scribe, eyes wide with wonder. Back before the bombs dropped, when she and Nate had visited the capital for a weekend break, she had insisted on walking to the Pentagon - just to see it up close – only to find that they couldn’t get within 100 metres of the building due to security concerns. After the outbreak of war the government had been so concerned about the threat of Chinese spies that all tours were cancelled and a cordon was put in place. She imagined a similar cordon was kept in place now to keep mutants and ferals at bay.

Amelia had never been so glad to be back on solid ground, hopping out of the vertibird as soon as it touched down in the Bailey, pausing only to unhook Dogmeat from his makeshift harness. The dog followed her out fearlessly, as always, and began barking in what she assumed was his way of showing appreciation for being back on earth. A small contingent had gathered in the courtyard to meet them, fronted by a middle-aged bald man who stepped forward to greet her. The man and group behind him saluted her proudly and Amelia returned the gesture, feeling a little uneasy at all the attention. “Sentinel, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” He extended his hand in greeting and the dark-haired woman took it in a firm handshake. “I’m Paladin Gunny, welcome to the Citadel.” She put on her best smile, before releasing the Paladin’s hand to brush her wild hair behind her ear. “Pleasure’s all mine, Paladin. I’ve got to say I’ve always wanted to see the Pentagon from the inside.” The group of scribes, knights and initiates shared furtive glances – either they’d heard the rumours about her being pre-war or they thought she was mad. 

“Well if you’ve always wanted to see inside I’m sure Star Paladin Cross will be more than happy to show you around. You’ll find her in the Laboratory.” With that, the Paladin gave her a final salute and turned to shoo the gaggle of curious initiates back to their training. The group assembled around the vertibird began to disperse and Amelia headed for the double doors Gunny gestured to.

Inside the Citadel was just as much of a maze as she’d imagined and Amelia kept finding herself turned around. After stopping a passing scribe for directions she finally found herself in the eastern end of the laboratory, faced with an African-American woman with a kind face and greying hair. If Amelia had to guess, she would’ve said the woman was in her late fifties but she still carried herself proudly and with the vigour of someone much younger. 

“Star Paladin Cross..?” The vault dweller began softly, aware that she was interrupting the woman from her work. The older woman met her gaze, her brow furrowing before realisation set in and her arm lifted to her chest in a salute. “Sentinel Williams. It is an honour to finally meet you. The reports we received from the Commonwealth spoke very highly of you.” Reports? What reports? She thought the only reports on her were being made by Danse to Maxson in the early days of her sponsorship. Most of the positive things Cross would’ve heard would’ve come from Danse one way or another and the thought made her heart twinge. It should be him getting such praises, not her. “Paladin Danse was an excellent mentor, Star-Paladin. I was lucky to have him teach me the ways of the Brotherhood.” Cross’ face looked pained, almost sombre, at the mention of her mentor’s name. “Yes, a fine man and a fine soldier.” The older woman paused, as if waiting for something from the vault dweller. Amelia offered her a sad smile and Cross seemed to find what she was looking for.

“Such a waste of life,” The Star-Paladin spat bitterly, “I read the reports, you did what you were ordered to do. That doesn’t mean I agree with it.” Cross’ words were surprisingly direct for someone she’d just met, Amelia liked that. She sighed, pulling out two chairs from a nearby desk and gesturing for Cross to sit. The petite vault dweller slumped into her chair, running her hands through her hair before fixing her eyes on Cross. “I didn’t like it either.” She whispered. “I still see his face. I miss him. He taught me so much and I taught him.. Taught him how not to be so serious all the time and to be a little bit more accepting.” Cross’ face was soft and sympathetic but her eyes were elsewhere, as if she was seeing something else entirely.

“The Brotherhood under Elder Lyons was a very different place. Helping the people of the Wasteland was of the utmost to the Lyons Doctrine, the acquisition of technology did not hold such importance as it does under Elder Maxson. Maxson is a strong leader, he’s reunited the Brotherhood with the Outcasts and increased our strength tenfold, but he does not truly share Lyons’ compassion for the people of the Wasteland. If Maxson was more open to the Lyons Doctrine, perhaps our friend would still be with us today. But there’s no point dwelling on the past. Tell me, how can I assist you?”

Amelia was stunned into silence, she rarely heard anyone criticise Maxson in the Commonwealth and never so openly. Perhaps with Maxson over 400 miles away, Cross felt out of reach of his wrath or perhaps with her rank and years of service she was simply untouchable. Regardless of her reasoning, Amelia was thankful for her candour.

“Elder Lyons sounds like a great man, I wish I could’ve met him. Sarah, too. I’ve heard great things about both of them. I came to find you as Paladin Gunny said you’re the person to speak to about getting a tour of this place? If I go wandering round on my own I’ll never come out again.” She grinned and Cross smiled back. “Sure, Sentinel. I’d be more than happy to give you the tour. Follow me.”


	7. Just a little bit of metal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was a super productive day. Also, trying to slip in-game dialogue in is fun.

Sometimes first impressions could be wrong. In the case of the Citadel, Amelia’s first impressions had been absolutely right. The place was a maze and if not for Star-Paladin Cross and the help of her Brothers and Sisters, she would’ve been lost inside forever. She was finally getting the hang of the layout when it all became too much to bear. Most of Citadel’s inhabitants were friendly or at least tolerated her presence. She had become close with Cross, the older woman taking the vault dweller under her wing, and seemed to have gained the respect of some of the Citadel’s more seasoned veterans – members of the old Lyon’s Pride, she learned. She had been welcomed to the Citadel with open arms but the pressure quickly became too much – all the initiates and scribes looked up to her like she was some sort of immortal being to be worshipped and the remarks about Danse made her sick to her stomach. If she heard one more person congratulate her on his execution she was going to scream.

It was Cross she sought out for solace in the depths of the laboratory. She didn’t feel confident enough to tell her the truth, simply admitting that she needed to get out into the field and try to gather intel on any Enclave movements. It was a half-truth, she _did_ need to try and scout out where their enemy were hiding but she also needed to find Danse. Her heart ached in the knowledge that he was out there in the Wasteland – alone – wallowing in all his self-resentment. He needed her and, selfishly, she needed him. Cross was more empathetic than Amelia gave her credit for, putting her hand on her shoulder and drawing her into an embrace. It was a little awkward given the power armour and the metal felt cold against her skin but it warmed her nonetheless.

“Thank you,” She whispered softly to the older woman. “I needed that.”

“Grief is hard on all of us, Sentinel. It will get easier as time goes on. Make no mistake, he would be proud of what you have done. Without you, the Institute would still be terrorising the Commonwealth and now you’re fighting another great evil. You do his memory proud.”

Amelia couldn’t find the words to thank her properly, instead she tightened her grip on Cross’ armour and sighed. When she pulled away, she smiled.

“Come with me? I’ve no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing, I could use someone to watch my back. Plus it can’t be good being cooped up in this lab all day.”

The Star-Paladin shook her head.

“I am afraid I must remain here. I have not been out in the field for many years and with the Prydwen still in the Commonwealth some of us must stay behind to protect the Citadel should danger arise. I do hope I can still prove useful to you, though.”

Cross gestured to her Pip Boy and the vault dweller unfastened the clip on the bottom and slowly slid it over her hand. 

“I can still guide you, as best I can,” Cross continued, entering locations on her Pip Boy’s map. “There are Brotherhood outposts at the GNR plaza, Washington Monument and the Jefferson Memorial, if you ever need somewhere to fall back to. If you’re looking for intel it would be a good idea to speak to Three Dog at Galaxy News Radio, he keeps tabs on everything going on in the Capital. There are a few large civilian settlements you should know about, Rivet City in the south-east is the largest. If you head out of the city to the north-west you’ll find Megaton. There’s also a ghoul city in the ruins of the Museum of History but they don’t exactly have the best relationship with the Brotherhood, being ghouls. I would not recommend going there unless you really have to.”

Cross finished inputting the locations on her map and the Sole Survivor carefully clipped her Pip Boy back into place. “A city of ghouls, huh? Sounds interesting.” Cross scoffed quietly and eyed the vault dweller sternly. Her look alone was enough to make Amelia feel like she was a child again, back in school and being chided for disobedience.

“Interesting if you want to get yourself killed.” The older woman said at last before her expression softened again. “Make sure you are well supplied for your journey, Sentinel. The Wasteland is an unforgiving place.”

Amelia bid her friend farewell, retreating to her quarters to retrieve her pack and re-supply. She fastened her armour over her suit, a mismatched combination of synth and combat armour pieces that weren’t exactly pretty but did the job. Trusty hat on her head, she couldn’t have looked less like Sentinel material if she tried, but she supposed that might work to her favour out in the wastes. Out there, like this, she was nobody and that suited her mission much better.

When Amelia reached the courtyard, she found Cross waiting for her by the door. The pair walked side by side through the bailey, initiates, knights and scribes alike turning to watch them pass.

“You be careful out there, Sentinel. We’ve lost enough good men recently, it would be a shame to lose you too.” Amelia grinned toothily at her, pulling the Star-Paladin into another hug.

“Give me some credit, Star-Paladin, I’ve lasted this long. Plus, I absolutely intend to see my 300th birthday.”

With that, she released the Star-Paladin from her grip and saluted. Cross returned the gesture and Amelia pushed open the door.

“Don’t worry, Cross – I’ll come back and visit soon. I promise.” She called over her shoulder, not daring to look back or she feared she would never leave. For all her bluff and bluster, heading out into the unknown made Amelia feel like she’d stumbled out of the Vault all over again. She shared a terse goodbye with Paladin Bael at the outer gate, only pausing to ask him the best way to get to Rivet City. He pointed to a grate down the hill and Amelia left without another word. It seemed that not all the Capital Brotherhood shared Cross’ charm and warm demeanour.

The tunnels themselves didn’t pose too much difficulty. She passed a couple of Brotherhood Knights who watched her suspiciously until she offered them a hearty salute. That seemed to do the trick and Amelia was able to pass without question. The only other inhabitants of the tunnels were the odd feral ghoul, always lurking where she least expected. God, she hated ferals. They never failed to scare the shit out of her. For all her fears, apart from a scratch on her cheek, she made it to the Memorial mostly unscathed.

Like the other end of the tunnel, this too was guarded by Knights. “Ad Victoriam, Brothers.” She offered on approach, keen not to be subject to friendly fire on her first expedition into the Wasteland. These men were more suspicious than their counterparts near the Citadel and it took pulling rank before they were willing to let her through. Even then they only moved aside begrudgingly.

She didn’t pause to admire the purifier. Cross had told her that this technological marvel was responsible for the clean water which now flowed through the city, but Amelia didn’t exactly have the scientific expertise to understand it. She made a mental note to try and have schematics drawn up before she left, however, as such an invention would be a welcome addition to the Commonwealth.

From the Memorial she headed east. She had stomached more than her fill of Brotherhood propaganda in the week she had spent at the Citadel and longed for a different kind of company. Cross’ talk of a ghoul city intrigued her. Back in the Commonwealth she had spent countless hours reminiscing with Daisy in Goodneighbour or hanging around the Slog just to speak to someone – anyone – who remembered the old world. As much as she had found her footing in the wastes, she still missed the comforts and luxuries of pre-war life. Not many people nowadays appreciated the sentiment of hot running water or watching the leaves on the trees turn brown and gold as summer changed to autumn. She had always found herself comfortable in the company of ghouls, even if to begin with their appearance had unnerved her. She could sympathise with ghouls more than a lot of wastelanders – like them she was a relic of a lost world.

She inputted her destination on her Pip-Boy, keen to set off north, but found the device directing her away. It sent her east, toward where Cross had marked Rivet City. Well, whatever. The device had never let her down before. She moved quietly, keen not to get into combat unless she had to and feeling fear creep up her spine. Everything here was just too _vast_. The buildings, the city itself – even the super mutants looked bigger, bulkier. She avoided those as best she could, skirting a path around them to her destination. Her map directed her past the beached wreckage of the air craft carrier which she recognised from Danse’s descriptions as Rivet City. She wondered if he was in there, selling junk at a stall just like old times. She doubted it. 

Her map directed her to an old metro station – Anacostia Crossing, the signs said – and the girl groaned inwardly as she descended the steps. Nothing good ever came of the metro. Nothing. The only things that willingly inhabited the tunnels were ferals, raiders and the occasional super mutant, at least if the Commonwealth was anything to go by. This one was no exception. Most of the ferals had been dealt with by the raiders who made their home in the stations, but she still found the odd one lurking in the dark, hissing and screeching as they chased her. It was the raiders themselves that posed more danger, the girl receiving some nicks and scrapes for her troubles, as well as a glancing wound on her bicep from a stray bullet. Thankfully it was nothing a stimpak couldn’t fix.

After looting the corpses, Amelia followed the old faded posters for the Museum of History, keen to find it before dark. If the Capital Wasteland was anything like the Commonwealth, she expected it would get a whole lot more dangerous at night. What she did not expect, as she pushed open the iron gates and moved up the stairs into the light, was to come face to face with a super mutant wielding a nail board.

She tried to run, skittering backwards and reaching for the plasma pistol on her thigh but couldn’t move quick enough. The board connected with her left shoulder with a sickening crunch, the mutant bellowing behind her. The girl yelped, frantically staggering backwards and firing her pistol. Her first shot connected with the beast’s upper torso and it staggered, flailing the board wildly but not quite able to reach her. Another shot hit the mutant in it’s shoulder and was met with a howl of pure rage. Another shot came, but this time it wasn’t hers. Amelia didn’t dare take her eyes off the mutant which now lumbered toward her brandishing the board. She fired again and again, finally bringing the beast to it’s knees.

She ran blindly in the direction of the laser fire, clutching her arm in agony and barely clinging to her pistol. She saw the museum entrance, saw the red-haired ghoul and heard the distant crack of gunfire. She didn’t see anything else.


	8. Welcome to Underworld, Smoothskin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amelia wakes up in Underworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry this took so long, one of my pets was quite ill so I've not had much chance to write. He's doing much better now though, so here's hoping I'll get back to a semi-regular schedule!

Something was going on and he didn’t like it. If there was one word to describe Underworld it was stagnant. Nothing ever really happened and nothing ever really changed, as to be expected in a city of people who never aged. Although he couldn’t say he liked it – hell, he spent almost every waking moment bored out of his god damn skull – it was easy. It was simple. The most difficult thing he had to deal with was patrons that got too rowdy, or Patchwork stumbling into things and causing trouble in his drunken stupor. This was something different, an excitement in the air he didn’t recognise. He didn’t like being out of the loop.

He leaned against the wall in the Ninth Circle, watching Underworld’s inhabitants come and go as they pleased. Their excitement was palpable, an itch that got under his skin like the sound of a bar fight or a glass breaking. It was a momentary escape from the monotony that was his employment under Ahzrukhal, but even monotony was better than some of his employer’s crueller tasks.

He picked up dribs and drabs of information as patrons drank, trying his best to seem disinterested by recent developments. Ahzrukhal would find some way to torment him if he noticed him take an interest in anything that wasn’t his orders. 

“Smoothskin, eh?” He heard his employer drawl from behind the bar and from his tone Charon could tell that that the sleazy ghoul was already plotting something. Ahzrukhal rarely took that much interest in something unless it was caps or how to make them. It took all the giant ghoul’s willpower not to let his lip curl into a silent snarl. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, steeling his face into its usual unreadable mask and letting his gaze drift from one patron to another, almost willing one of them to start something. No one did. One side effect of being such an excellent deterrent and bouncer was that no one started any trouble unless they’d had far too much of their chosen poison.

As afternoon became evening the Ninth Circle began to get busier. Patchwork made an appearance, briefly, passing what caps he’d managed to scrounge to Ahzukhal for half a bottle of whiskey. Snowflake was the next regular to appear, itching for another hit. Charon could only hear snippets of their conversation from across the room, that damned radio was always turned up way too loud.

“Aww c’mon Ahzrukhal, I just need a few puffs an’ I’ll be out your hair.” The barber begged.

Ahzrukhal’s response was too low for Charon to catch, but he heard enough – the words “deal” and “newcomer” plenty to give away his intent.

“Alright, alright, but you gotta let me have a puff first.” His employer relented, caps changed hands and the barber huffed on the inhaler, though Ahzrukhal refused to release it entirely. “Some smoothskin… dragged in by Willow… all beat up. She an’ Winthrop took her to Doc Barrows an’ I ain’t seen her since… Gimme the jet, Ahzrukhal, c’mon.” Snowflake pleaded and Ahzrukhal relented, releasing his grip on the inhaler.

That explained the excitement. It had been years since Underworld had had a smoothskin visitor. The odd trader stopped by now and again, but usually only dealt with Quinn out in the foyer rather than venturing inside. Anything a little bit different was a novelty in Underworld, he supposed. Not much had changed since he’d ended up in Ahzrukhal’s employ and that was going on what, 80, 90 years now? He couldn’t quite recall.

*** 

She was groggy and sore when she awoke. At first she thought she was back in the Citadel, that the shuffling on the other side of the room was a scribe and that Sawbones would come floating over to check on her. But the décor wasn’t quite right, the ceiling too high and the light too warm. The smell was different too – stale and musty where the Citadel smelled of oil and sweat. As her senses came back to her she panicked, scrambling to get out of bed and getting caught off guard by throbbing pain in her shoulder, stomach and thigh. Wild-eyed and teeth bared, she spun round to find the source of the voice that called to her in her half-drugged state. She instantly regretted it, her shoulder hurt so much at the fast movement that it knocked her sick.

“Easy there, smoothskin, you took one hell of a beating out there. I’m not gonna hurt you.” A ghoul in a dirty white t-shirt stood about a meter from the bed, hands held up in an effort to look non-threatening. Across the room was another ghoul - a woman with pink hair - who stopped fiddling with medical equipment to stare at her. Amelia’s eyes darted from one to the other before scoping the rest of the room, feeling a little less uneasy.

“Where the hell am I?” She growled, not willing to let her guard down. “And where the hell’s my dog?” She couldn’t see Dogmeat anywhere. He had a habit of wandering off on his own and she didn’t remember seeing him when she exited the subway.

“You’re in Underworld, smoothskin. I’m Doctor Barrows and this is my assistant, Nurse Graves.” He gestured to the other ghoul. “We’ve been lookin’ after you since Willow dragged you in, the mutants really did a number on you. Winthrop’s been looking after your dog, he’s fine. Though I’m not exactly a veterinarian.”

“How long was I out?” She asked, absentmindedly rubbing her left shoulder. It twinged painfully under her touch.

“Three days, smoothskin. Didn’t think you were gonna make it at first, you lost a lot of blood. Had to use most of my samples up keeping you alive.”

Her shoulder twinged painfully again and Amelia groaned and lay back on the bed, half wishing she’d died out on mall instead. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been in this much pain. Perhaps the time she got stung by an errant radscorpion on the edge of the glowing sea? The thought alone was enough to make her cringe. The doctor shuffled away, grabbing a syringe of med-x from a nearby table. He sat on the edge of the bed gently, Amelia still watching him with mild unease.

“Here, this’ll help with the pain. I’ve given you enough stimpacks to close the wounds and get you healing, but too many can actually slow the process so you’re going to be sore for a few days yet. One stimpack a day should fix you up just fine, but I wouldn’t be leaving for at least a week yet, maybe two, just to be sure. Now hold still, you don’t want me to slip when holding sharp objects.”

The girl nodded softly, her mind wandering as Barrows prepped the syringe. He took her good arm in his hand, wiping the crook of her elbow with disinfectant before pressing the syringe into her skin. His bedside manor was better than most of the wasteland doctors she’d met previously, even better than Doctor Sun in Diamond City. At least Barrows wasn’t so brusque.

The med-x dulled the pain, sweet relief like ice cold water on a hot day. She’d always tried to avoid the painkiller where she could, she’d seen enough junkies before and after the war to be wary of addiction. Plus, she always found opiates gave her some horrific nausea when they wore off, it wasn’t worth the high.

“Thanks, doc.” She said softly, the med-x already making her feel like she was wrapped in cotton wool. “Gonna owe you an arm an’ a leg fer’all this.” She slurred, the drowsiness kicking in.

“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, smoothskin. I can always use fresh human samples.”

“Samples, huh?” 

She tried to fight the drowsiness, but between the med-x and sheer exhaustion she was out like a light before she could register his reply. Sleep was a welcome relief.


End file.
